Imítheos
by barnesthor
Summary: Some stories are written in ink, some in blood. Ajax has been fighting as a gladiator for years in the arena of Asgard. Due to its bloody reputation, he is rather shunned by the population until one day a dark force rises from the shadows. But the princes of Asgard are gone, so he goes in search of them, unaware that he is being watched by someone.


The noise within the arena bounced off him, like rain pattering on an umbrella. He stared silently at the wall in that shitty little cage. The time before the fight was probably the worst. Especially the nervousness of the others did not really help him lose his tension.

His muscular arm tightened slightly as he felt the strange tingling in his stomach again. It sometimes seemed to him as if he was looking forward to the fight, but the thought also scared him to slaughter down a few people like cattle again. His hand unconsciously stroked the sharp blade of his sword _Cleaver_. All good weapons had a name.

He did not even flinch as he sliced his palm, moistening his sword with his fiery red blood. It was something of a ritual now. Somehow, he believed that his blood brought him luck. "Cadan!" Called a familiar voice. _Cadan_. He hated that name. It was not even his. They have given it to him. In their language it meant something like warrior. Very creative for a gladiator. He looked for a long time on the small tattoo on his wrist. _Ajax_. The proud eagle. It was still a mystery to him how his mother got that name, maybe it had something to do with his origins, after all the eagle represented the powerful and the divine.

"Cadan!" The leader shouted again. "What?" he growled and stood up. "You're about to go! And do not spit in the audience this time ... the ruling family is watching," the master said and grimaced slightly. Ajax rolled his eyes in annoyance, putting his sword back in the scabbard again. He could not lose his control ... not again. He narrowed his eyes as he noticed the small sparks shooting from his arms.

But his eyes shot up as he saw out of the corner of his eye as one of the men was dragging a bloodied gladiator in. "Then let the show begin," he mumbled as his cage opened, patiently waiting as the announcement always came first:

"Ladies and Gentlemen. Of course, also honoured King Odin, as well as his adorable wife, Queen Frigga and his sons Loki and Thor of Asgard. You will now see someone who has not lost a single fight yet. His name is ...," the Master made a dramatic pause, which Ajax commented with a soft sigh. "Cadan!" He shouted, and the crowd cheered.

As if it was such a great thing. Day after day to fight for his survival, to burn the corpses of the dead men. With a forced smile, the broad gladiator stepped into the arena. The sand crunched under his boots and his heart throbbed like a race horse. The Master nodded encouragingly to him after he had stroke some orange strands behind his ear. Somewhat annoyed, Ajax rolled his eyes and jogged forward. A little further over the clay court, the royal family has their place. Because of the courtesy, and much to his misgivings, he knelt and put in front of him Cleaver in the sand. After a while, Odin nodded, so the gladiator stood up again. His eyes wandered briefly over the faces of the gods. His eyes remained on the blonde, Thor was his name. The young prince smiled at him tenderly, what Ajax commented with a slight grin.

He went to his side of the arena, ready to fight. He did not care what the name of his rival was. The Master's voice sounded dull in his ears as if he were far away. His heart was racing like crazy as he eyed the stature of his enemy. Ajax was not small. On the contrary, he was taller than most other gladiators, but this man was a giant. Almost threefold portion of him, both height and width. With a grim expression, he stared at the giant, who held an axe in his hand that could cut him in the middle.

He was not afraid. Neither fighting nor dying will ever make him sweat. "Let's start, then," he murmured and grinned when the signal was finally given.

As expected, the giant ran towards him, but he dodged with a role. His advantage was that he was smaller and more flexible and athletic. But the advantage of his opponent was well ... The opposite. He was taller and much stronger. At least he thought. He cursed as the other man came up to him, swinging his axe, and Ajax reflexively raised his sword. He narrowed his eyes but jerked them open when he heard a loud bang, and he looked at Cleaver with fascination. Without a scratch the sword could stand up against the axe, and with big, dark green eyes the giant stared at the two weapons. Fascinated, he looked at Cleaver as he withstood the axe without a scratch. With big, dark green eyes, the giant stared at the two weapons. "Probably not as powerful as you've thought, huh?" Ajax teased him, but he got a loud roar in response. "Oh, if I could only shut up," he muttered, but then the other has raised his weapon again. As quickly as possible he tried to dodge and has already struck off with his life when the axe fell on him.

Like a wounded predator he shouted, as it brushed against his arm, tearing skin and flesh. A new wave of heat came over him and his vision blushed, like the blood that coloured the sand. He could feel that tingling, energy and fire in his veins again. He tensed his sinewy leg muscles, yanked his sword and jumped. He slammed Cleaver firmly into the giant's chest and dragged his weapon down the man's body.

With a stunned look, the giant stared down at himself. Watching the blood flowed out of his body. Satisfied, Ajax watched as his opponent sank to the ground. His muscular body was also covered with the dark red liquid of his opponent, which made him wrinkle his nose as the metallic smell rose in his nose.

He looked comfortably into the audience. "Well, the show is over," he said calmly and bowed. "I hope you liked it," he added, before he spat dismissively on the floor and left the arena calmly. He urgently needed to wash himself, as well as patching up his arm.

A soft sigh escaped him as he felt the hot water on his body. He loved heat. Fire did not bother him. "At least you have some good qualities," Ajax murmured after drying himself. He growled softly as he touched his wounded spot.

"Damn!" He cursed sotto voce. Now, with almost no adrenaline flowing through him, he could feel the cruel, stabbing pain. Panting, he pulled as fast as possible, a boxer shorts on and stumbled into the medical room. He clenched his teeth tightly, so he would not scream out loud. Frantically, he reached for the alcohol and dropped a few drops on his wound, that's why a loud gasp escaped his throat. His legs were shaking like hell.

"You need something to drink," a female voice suddenly said. Puzzled, Ajax looked up. Rarely, women got lost here. Most of them were avoiding the gladiators, which he could understand. A lot of theme were frustrated, knowing they were about to die. Men were often capable of infinitely cruel things. "What are you doing here?" he asked in a quavering voice and sat down on the sickbed. "I saw you fighting and, of course, what happened with your arm," she said with a smile, which was brighter than the sun. Even though Ajax did not smile often, the corners of his mouth actually lifted. "That still does not answer my question," he said. "I know, and here, something to drink." The woman walked up to him, her brown wavy hair bobbing lightly with each step. Head tilted, he looked at her. "Do we know each other?" He asked. "Not yet," she replied with an amused laugh as she handed him the glass.

The gladiator scrutinized her and smelled lightly on the water. "It's not poisoned," she tried to calm him down and took a sip. When nothing happened, he took also a few sips. Then he nodded gratefully and put the glass away. "The wound has to be sewn," she said, and went to the closets to open each one. "There we have a needle and a thread." She happily withdrew the material.

"Um, I do not think that's necessary," he murmured, grimacing. He hated to be sewn. You could still see the puncture wounds from the year before, lasting on his calf. They were ugly. Any non-combat scar was ugly to Ajax, on his body. The others, however, he wore with pride.

"Yes, it is," she said simply and walked to the hospital bed. "What's your name?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "My name is Sofjn," she introduced herself. Her blue eyes sparkled with amusement as she noticed his sullen gaze falling on the needle. "My name is Ajax," he murmured after a while. Meanwhile, Sofjn has already threaded the thread. "Ajax ... What a strange name," she admitted, frowning. "It's from ... another language," he explained, tensing slightly as she lit the needle and cleaned it with the alcohol. "You haven't got equipment very much here," she remarked. "Who cares about the attack dogs? We're just there to amuse the good crowd."


End file.
